


Blinded ( A Jeff The Killer Fanfiction. )

by Resurrect_My_Sanity



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, JeffTheKiller - Fandom
Genre: 1950s, Creepypasta, F/M, Murdering, actionadventure, blindgirl, flasbackstory, jeffthekiller - Freeform, jeffxblindgirl, loveinterest, murdermystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-09 09:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11666685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resurrect_My_Sanity/pseuds/Resurrect_My_Sanity
Summary: Rain collided against the window, blending with the tune playing from the radio, creating an unusual symphony. An elderly woman sat in a wheelchair, nursing a cup of steaming tea in her frail hands over the dining room table. Long hair cascaded over her shoulders and down the back of the wheelchair in silver waves. The scar adorning her cheek spoke untold tales of bloodshed, but the warmth in her smile she held up without falter said she had won her battles. Her name was Quinn Ann Beckett, and her name would not go down in the history books, nor did she want it to, but one thing was certain.She was a force to be reckoned with.====================================Follow Quinn Ann Beckett's whirlwind tale about how she lost her father, and found something else. Her destiny.





	1. Chapter 1

Rain collided against the window, blending with the tune playing from the radio, creating an unusual symphony. An elderly woman sat in a wheelchair, nursing a cup of steaming tea in her frail hands over the dining room table. Long hair cascaded over her shoulders and down the back of the wheelchair in silver waves. The scar adorning her cheek spoke untold tales of bloodshed, but the warmth in her smile she held up without falter said she had won her battles. Her name was Quinn Ann Beckett, and her name would not go down in the history books, nor did she want it to, but one thing was certain.

She was a force to be reckoned with.

"Maman, do you need more sugar?" Quinn's daughter spoke, breaking her from her concentration.

Quinn shook her head and nodded in thanks for the offer. No one had heard her speak since the 80's, but she had continued to write her books in braille for many years after, becoming a bestselling author. She wrote tales of love and mistortfune, speaking indirectly of her own experiences in life. As she pursued her writing career in the 60's, Quinn had settled down and formed a large family with a man she had told herself she had been in love with at one time. Their romance hadn't been the one of the century, but he had given her a family and that was all that she could've asked for.

Now, at the age of 75, she lived in a small apartment in Paris with her eldest daughter Lucille who had taken it upon herself to care for her mother in her old age. Quinn had been born without her sight, and it had never stopped her before she had gotten in a car accident with, Kip, her husband and the father of her children. Kip had passed, and Quinn was left paralyzed from the waist down. That was the last time she had spoken.

After putting away a stray glass, Lucille walked from the kitchen over to the radio, turning up the french song that sounded much like a love song from the olden days. She sat across the table, taking her mother's hand in hers. A warm, familiar smile spread across Quinn's face as she mouthed the lyrics to the song. It was often that she would mouth along to lyrics from her past. Lucille had heard her mothers singing voice only a handful of times as a young girl, and she longed to hear her mother's voice once again. Though Quinn could not see, Lucille looked her in the eye and spoke with a melancholy voice.

"Won't you speak to me again, Maman? I miss your voice."

Quinn's smile faltered and she looked down, closing her eyes. She sighed, having a clear internal conflict. As the silence drew on, the enchanting song filled the room.

"This song brings me such fond memories, ma fille." Quinn whispered.

Not taking her words for granted, Lucille tucked a stray hair behind her ear and chewed on her lip, considering what to say.

"Tell me those memories, Maman. Please?"

"It is a long tale, ma fille. One even your papa never heard."

Furrowing her eyebrows together, she squeezed her mother's hand gently, urging her to tell her. Taking one last sip of her tea, Quinn cleared her throat and began.

"It was the autumn of 1952 when they found my father's body in the woods behind the local park."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flashback to : Portland, OR. August 4th, 1952.

A tattered missing persons paper fluttered across the street, dancing in the winds current. It's print was highlighted by the pulsing lights of too many police cruisers to count. The ambulance's siren howled in the distance, approaching swiftly. A late night jogger had come across the missing Jonathan Beckett's body floating face down in the creek by the local park. The shine of Beckett's wedding ring in the moonlight had caught the woman's eye, attracting her towards the eventual crime scene.

Mud adorned the officer's shoes as they trudged into the creek, retrieving the lifeless body. Lacerations and bruises weathered the only 45 year old man's face into looking much older. He had suffered before death. Beckett had gone missing only a day and a night prior, leading many to believe he was off on one of his many drinking tangents in the nearby town. Despite his alcoholism, he had been known for his kindness and astounding detective work years back.

After having to step down as a detective to raise his young daughter, Quinn, he had chosen to go into record keeping and sorting at the local police department. Many bystanders crowded behind the yellow caution tape, trying to catch a glimpse of the scene. Some mourned the man, others theorized what happened, but many were petrified. Was there a murderer in their beloved city? Who was next?

Five blocks down the street, a sleeping Quinn Beckett is jolted awake by a loud banging at her front door. She shoves her tangled hair out of her face, gets up and trudges downstairs, feeling the wall for direction. Quinn had been born blind at birth, but with her father's help she had managed to be as independent and capable as any other 16 year old girl. Grazing her fingers on the lock on the front door, she clicks it open.

Her nose is lit up by undeniably strong scents of men's cologne and pine.

"Are you Quinn Beckett, daughter of Jonathan Beckett?" A gruff voice bellows, much too loud for the time of night it must be.

She nods her head, her ankle long curls bouncing with her. Immediate fear flows freely through her, making her chew her lip as she does when overwhelmed. Quinn knew it was her father without a doubt. If he was alive or dead, though, she had not a clue. With mental preparation, she follows the officer's lead into the backseat of the police cruiser. The serenity of the car ride is short lived when they pull into the parking lot.

Noise, is all that Quinn can hear when she steps through the front doors. To her left a woman pleads her innocence, and to her far right a man threatens an officer with his team of lawyers. The officer gently, yet firmly, takes Quinn's upper arm in his hand and directs her past the lobby, into a private office.

"Chief." The officer says, alerting another man's attention, before leaving the room. She settles into the chair, pulling her raven hair over her shoulder. Playing with it out of nervousness, she awaits the dreaded news.

"Miss.Beckett, tonight, at approximately 10:30 PM, a jogger came across your father's body in Willow Creek. He died presumably the night he went missing, but the autopsy will soon reveal if that is true or not. As someone who knew your father personally, I truly am sorry."

Quinn's breath caught and her pale green eyes welled with tears that dared to spill over onto her cheeks. Sure, she had prepared herself for this in the prior moments, but nothing could've readied her for this moment. Her father, her best friend, was dead and Quinn had no idea why.

"Why is this happening to me?" Quinn screamed in her thoughts, she begged whatever gods there were to make her wake up from this nightmare, to tell her it was just a cruel joke. Holding her breath for much too long, she tried to take a breath, but was stopped short as a sob wracked her body. She held her face in her hands and cried like never before in her life.

Suddenly a body was sitting next to her, lending her a shoulder to cry on. She had never been one to be comfortable around strangers, but she found herself latching onto the man. He rubbed her back, soothing her whimpering. Pulling away, Quinn took a deep, shaky breath. She had a sense of newfound numbness.

"Can you take me home?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I have to stay here, but I can have one of my men drive you." She nodded and waited in silence as the Chief went to fetch an officer to drive her home.

The ride home was one of reflection. Quinn's entire life was about to shift, and that scared her more than anything. Upon being dropped off at her front door, Quinn turned and bolted through the muddy yard to her next door neighbor, and childhood friend, Kip's house. Kip had met Quinn when she moved in next door, 10 years ago. His parents had come to greet and welcome her family to the neighborhood that afternoon, and they'd gone off and played in the woods for hours. Quinn had confessed to him about being scared of the new school, but Kip had pinky swore that she would love it in no time.

Despite his older age, they were still in the same grade and Kip had protected her with everything his scrawny little body could handle. Being friends with the blind new girl never phased him and for that, Quinn held him dear to her heart. Rounding to the back of the house, she knocks on his window three times in a sequence they'd made up as a way to get the other to let them in.

Moving the curtains aside, he looked at Quinn with a confused look on his face. Unlocking the window and pulling it up high enough for her to climb in, Kip noticed the tear streaks on her cheeks and her puffy eyes. As soon as Quinn's small frame was through the window, he shut it behind her and pulls her into a tight hug.

"They found him didn't they, Quinnie?" He asks, using his childhood name for her. Nodding into his chest the tears threaten to fall.

"His body was found in Willow Creek, Kip. I don't even know why this is happening. How did this happen?"

"I don't know." He squeezes her tight once more before pulling away and wiping the tears from under her eyes.

Quinn had once had a schoolgirl crush on Kip, and she believed he had the same, but she valued her best friend over a boyfriend. They walked over to his bed and Quinn fell face-first into it.

"I'm not even sure what I'm going to do, Kip. Where will I go? I'll probably end up in the system. I don't want to leave my home." She spoke, her voice muffled by the bed.

"We'll figure it out in time, Quinnie. Just think about getting some sleep for right now." He said, a yawn ending the sentence. Walking over to the futon across the room, he plopped down across it.

"Okay." She whispered, letting the comfort of being in a familiar place where she felt safe lull her to sleep. It would be a restless night, but Quinn would take what she could get.

And so it began.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since they'd found Quinn's father's body. They were cruising down the road in Kip's old Morris Minor Convertible with the windows down. School had just ended 30 minutes prior, and Kip had offered to give Quinn a ride to her father's work so she could collect his belongings. The ride was a short one, but the chilling autumn wind bit at her nose causing the tip to turn a shade of red. After rolling the window up with the crank, Quinn huddled for warmth in her oversized forest green cardigan.

The radio played an upbeat tune, in which she hummed along to as they began approaching the station. Sirens howled as the police cruisers whipped past their car, tending to an emergency in the opposite direction. Crinkling her nose at the blaring noise, Quinn's only objective was to get in, collect her father's belongings and get out. Her hearing had become exponentially more sensitive as she'd grown, as well as her sense of smell. It was both a blessing and a curse in her eyes.

As they pulled into a parking space, Kip got out first and walked around the tattered yellow car to lend Quinn a helping hand in the correct direction. Stepping through the front doors, they approached a desk where a pudgy woman in her mid 40s sat filling out some type of forms. A cigarette adorned her wrinkled fingers, the smoke filling the room with an intoxicating scent. After catching her attention, Kip asked her for the keys to the department's basement records.

"Only verified personnel is allowed down there, young man." Her pencil thin eyebrows rose much too high to be normal, as she questioned he reasoning for needing such access in the first place. To the left of the desk, the 'Authorized Personnel Only' door swung open, revealing the buff man that'd delivered the news of her father to Quinn. Looking up from the case file in his hands, he recognized her immediately by the raven hair that cascaded all the way to her ankles.

"They're with me, Dianne. Let them through." The chief called out, indiscreetly winking at the woman. Having an obvious office crush on her boss, the now flustered woman fished through the top drawer and handed Kip a ring of keys. Thanking her, and sending the chief a nod of appreciation as well, they walked through the stark white daunting door.

Following directional signs, they found themselves winding through many long corridors before reaching the stairwell that lead to the basement. Fumbling with the keys, Kip jiggled it in the lock before the heavy metal door swung open with a high pitched squeak. Quinn's senses were alive as they walked down the stairs that creaked with each movement. The strong aroma of rusted metal and dust was almost too much for her to handle.

"This place looks like a horror movie, Quinn. I can't believe your father worked down here all day." Kip spoke with awe in his voice, his freckled features scrunching up.

"It smells like a horror movie, too." She said, her face mirroring his.

Turning a corner after stepping off the last step, they entered a cramped office space littered with files. Shelves stacked to the ceiling kept records of past offences, telling stories that had unfolded in the court of law. The room was lit by a single fluorescent light that hung down, swaying back and forth. Kip guided Quinn into the office office chair that sat in front of the neatly organized desk. Despite the shape of the rest of the basement, Quinn's father had always been one to keep things tidy and in order, a trait that Quinn herself had inherited.

Grabbing a box off the floor, Kip set it on the desk. "Do you want any help?"

Shaking her head, she thanked him but declined his offer. "I have to do this for myself."

Giving her some privacy, he walked over to the shelving units, exploring the files. Quinn began feeling across the desk for items, her thin fingers dancing across the ridges and dips of a smooth picture frame. Putting it in the box, along with a stack of files, she let herself have a silent moment to mourn. She would miss her father dearly.

Hot tears cascaded across her rosy cheeks as she thought back to when she was just a girl. They had spent the day singing along to music, baking cookies that Quinn had begged him for. After they put the cookies into the oven to bake, Quinn heard the familiar tune of her favorite french song that he'd sang to her many times before.

"Papa, let's dance!" She had giggled at him enthusiastically, taking his large hands in her tiny ones. Stepping on her father's feet they had spun around in an less than rhythmic dance in the living room until both of them were much too dizzy to continue.

Her fond smile contradicted her teary eyes as she continued packing the boxes. She felt around for drawers, her hand landing on one large thin compartment just under the desk's top. Opening it, she picked out the odds and ends that she would leave behind. At the very back of the drawer, her fingertips grazed a small object with rough ridges. Pulling it out, she found that it had a chain.

"A necklace?" She thought.

Perhaps an old relic he had kept of her mother's, she figured. Her mother had left Quinn and her father shortly after her birth, and fled the country. She had never known why, nor did she want to. Quinn believed you couldn't miss what you'd never had, and she'd had her father. That was enough for her. She slipped the necklace into the pocket of her cardigan to fiddle with later.

The drive home had been much like the one there, until Kip was forced by construction into taking the road to Willow Creek home. Passing the scene was much like a movie to Kip. Large police dogs scattered the area, tracking scents and footprints. Large men in navy uniform business suits looked out of place in the mud as they dusted each and every nearby tree for fingerprints. It wasn't long that they were passing, but the chaotic noise of such a scene brought feelings of anxiety.

"You wanna come over for dinner tonight again, Quinn?" Kip had asked her as they pulled into his cobble driveway.

She'd been going over there every night this week, trying her best to not seclude herself. Tonight, though, she felt that she needed to be alone. Silence was when Quinn could really sit down and think clearly.

"No, I think I'll go home and try to get an early nights sleep." Said said, walking over to her best friend and giving him a tight hug before navigating her way back to her house across the yard.

Upon unlocking her front door and stepping inside, Quinn walked upstairs into her room. She sat down on her vanity chair and unclipped the pins from her hair, setting them down. She'd always wondered what she looked like, what Kip looked like, as well as her father. The tales of vanity and self obsession with appearance that she'd been told before made her say a silent "thank you" that she would never be stricken with such unimportant cares.

Running a brush through her long raven curls, she hummed a tune that spoke of no particular song. She'd never let anyone cut her hair before, out of a childhood fear that the scissors would take her ears off with the hair. Though she grew out of such a silly fear, she'd still never felt the need to have someone cut it.

Setting the brush down, she stood from the vanity chair and moved over to her bed, laying atop of it rather than in it. She took the necklace from earlier out of her pocket, and fiddled with it in her small hands. It had rough ridges that spoke of perhaps a finely detailed stone, or diamond rather. Feeling the sides, she noted there was a spot where she could open the stone up.

"Huh, a locket." She whispered to herself, eyebrows furrowed together.

Sitting up, she took a side of the chain in each one of her hands. Moving her hands behind her neck, she clasped it together. Running her fingers across the locket once more, she became curious and moved to open it. After a few failed tries, it opened and Quinn felt around for anything inside it.

"Nothing..." She sighed, in moderate disappointment.

As she moved to close the locket, the house started rumbling. It was small at at first, figured it was just a pipe shifting, but it kept growing. The walls were soon shaking and an ungodly rumble was coming from above. Yelping, Quinn dove onto her bedroom floor, covering the back of her head with her hands. She had never experienced an earthquake like this before in her life.

The minutes went on and it just kept coming. Quinn could hear glass china falling onto the floors from downstairs. Each boom was louder than the lastand she stayed, curled up into fetal position on the floor silently begging for it to stop.

In an instant, the rumble stopped as well as the shaking.

"Is it over?" She questioned herself in her thoughts.

Getting up, she straightened out her dress, feeling that her stockings had ripped when she dove onto the floor. Trying to steady her erratic breathing, she sat on the side of her bed. "What the hell was that?" was all that was going through her head when she heard someone breathing in the far corner of the room.

Her entire body went rigid, consumed by fear. A tall man stands in the corner of her bedroom. His long matted black hair, combined with his tattered white hoodie cover every inch of his face. Except for the smile carved in either side of his cheeks by what only could've been a rigid kitchen knife. It still oozed blood, creating an undeniable scent of metal in Quinn's nose. He knew that she knew he was there, but made no move to attack, nor did Quinn make a move to run.

Taking a shaky breath, gathering her courage. She turned her head in the direction of the breathing man in the corner, and spoke barely a whisper that filled rooms haunting silence.

"I don't have to see you, to know you're there."


	3. Chapter 3

She can't see him, but his already malevolent smile climbs higher, her words amusing him. Quinn had no time to wonder how he'd managed to break into her house, even in the midst of the chaos from the assumed earthquake. Even so, she knew she had a decision to make.

Would she run?

Knowing her house like the back of her hand, Quinn mapped it out in her mind as if it were blueprints laid upon the table. If she could escape her room, she could potentially scramble downstairs and out the front door. The other option was placing faith in her beloved best friend and winding through the halls to the back door, through the yard, and climbing into Kip's room through the window. 

The question was. Could she make it before the dark cloud that loomed in the corner carved her to pieces?

Her breath was labored, and her fists clenched the duvet, but she knew what she must do. Quinn would put her trust in Kip. 

She knew that he would save her.

The grandfather clock that stood tall in the hallway struck 12, and the haunting chime sang. 

Now. 

Her feet carried her faster than ever before, hammering the floor in loud thuds. Swiftly, and with the upper hand, the man was after Quinn, long blade gripped firmly in his fist. Throwing the door open, she dashed through the halls. Though she quickly grew out of breath, she had a gain on him. The hope Quinn felt drove her through the ache in her muscles as she darted down the stairs, taking multiple at a time. Rounding the corner, she bounded through the kitchen, coming upon her only exit strategy.

As her hand grasped the back door handle she chanted in her head, a reassurance to herself. "I'm going to make it!"

Nobody, could take her life away before it was truly over. She was going to live.

She yanked the door open, but it was forcefully slammed shut again by her own body weight as the man collided into her. Both fell to the floor, but he was atop Quinn in mere seconds, ready to silence her with a single swipe of his razor sharp blade. 

"No!" She howled, weeping. 

She wasn't ready; this wasn't what was supposed to happen. 

Violently, she thrashed her entire body, trying to free herself from his dead-weight. Growing impatient by her squirming, the man used all of his strength to pin Quinn's body to the ground. Her face collided against the chilled flooring, and she had no way to get out.

"You're a delicate one, aren't you. Taken down so easily." His deep, raspy voice purred into her ear sending shivers down her back. In that very moment, his entire being secreted malevolence.

His knife traced her cheek, pressing hard enough to break skin. He trailed it down her neck, threatening another wound. Quinn whimpered, though not from the pain, but from defeat. He had stolen her hope, ripped it to pieces and tossed it into an abyss. 

The crimson blood cascaded down her face, mixing with hot tears. This was it for her. Kip, her father, and everyone she'd ever known flashed before her teary, emerald eyes in a slow-motion sequence. The life she had lived, as well as the one she'd planned, was over. Gone; in as little as thirty minutes.

No. She wouldn't go down so easy. Her pride chanted that if she was going to die, she'd go out fighting harder than ever. She wouldn't be a victim. 

With the last of her inner strength, Quinn hurled herself around and jammed her hands out. She reached across his face, looking for anything to hit that could potentially wound her attacker. Her fingernails drug across his face, through his animalistically carved smile, and sank into his seemingly glowing eyes.

Sneering, his grip loosened, but it wasn't enough. The aggravation inside him only grew, though he remembered his strict instructions. He must not murder her. As an alternative, he took fistfulls of Quinn's dark hair, and used it as a grip to begin bashing her head onto the wooden floor. She screeched, pain coursing through her skull as he continued. Over and over he brought her head down to the floor, each time eliciting a cry from Quinn. Eventually, black spots clouded her vision and without a way to stop it, she lost consciousness.

He stilled, a calm washing over him as they lied there in a heap of blood and sweat. Quinn's unconscious body exhaled ragged breaths, her hair matted across her face from the drying blood. The itch to carve her flesh, into something much more beautiful welled inside his core making his fingers twitch.

"Fuck." He groaned, running a hand across his face. 

He fully knew that the method he'd chosen to silence her would displease him, but she had been a bigger pain than anticipated. Gathering what little wits were left in him, he caught his breath and stood up. Getting her back to the mansion would be a task, considering he'd have to haul her. His previously stained hoodie was now freshly adorned with new crimson patterns as he scooped Quinn's limp body into his arms, and tossed her over his shoulder.

Despite her petite frame, Quinn's dead-weight draped over his shoulders forced him to use a great deal of effort whilst he exited the door, into the backyard. Instantly, his tattered sneakers were covered in mud. He had to make getting into the woods as discreet as possible, due to The Mortal Realm not having ways of protecting him if he'd somehow became spotted and captured.

~~~~~

Kip Ryland sat in his desk chair, staring incredulously at the scene through his bedroom window. Across the yard, a man with an engraved smile and charcoal locks trudged across the yard cautiously with a unmoving Quinn across his shoulder. Kip's mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide as he scattered his brain on what to do. What could he even do? There, unconscious and slung over a man he'd never seen before, and never wanted to see again, was his childhood friend Quinn Beckett. 

Immediately, Kip doubled over and hurled into the bin conveniently placed next to the study desk. Though he had always had a nervous stomach in serious situations, the boy with curly orange locks had never been one to swear unnecessarily. But, as he wiped the corner of his mouth, a slew of jumbled curses came flying out of his mouth. Kip stood up from the chair suddenly, causing it to fall on it's back, and bolted up the stairs to use the telephone.

~~~~~

They'd been hiking in the woods for miles now, the thickets growing almost impassible to weave through. Quinn's already marred face, had now been scratched by numerous thorns. Though, both were covered in stray leafs that'd stuck to their hair and clothing. He wondered if he'd hit her head a bit too hard for comfort, as the petite girl had been knocked out since the scene on the kitchen floor hours ago. But in the moment, it had come as only a natural reaction to him. 

Suddenly, the gravity shifted and caused him to sway, nearly dropping Quinn. The haze in the sky shifted, a red filter falling upon them. In the sky shone two moons, one of which was the moon known by both The mortal, and Immortal Realm. The other, however, was exponentially larger than the first. The colossal planet shone a crimson red across the entire sky above them, casting shadows and illuminating every tree and plant with it's bloodshot aura.

"We're home." He whispered, a sense of relief cascading over him.

Besides entering to get his fix, he'd never enjoyed going to The Mortal Realm. Finally, they broke through the thick sea of green, and walked upon a vast field filled with tall blades of grass that still housed water droplets from earlier precipitation. The Victorian mansion in the distance towered over them, much higher than any skyscraper.

His muscles ached to the core as they continued, but he was proud that he'd completed his task and brought the girl back in one piece. The mans eyes lingered on Quinn's long dark locks that contrasted her ivory skin. As he carried them up the grand stairway, leading to the front entrance, the wind carried a familiar singsong voice to his ears.

A woman sat upon one of the withering steps, her long limbs draping across multiple. She twirls her ink black hair around a long, thin finger. 

"Tch, he won't be pleased that you fucked up the new girls face up, Jeffrey." She speaks in a bored tone, though interest twinkles in her black, soul-less eyes.

Being called by his full name made him cringe noticeably. Her face crinkled in a manic laughter, knowing full well she'd gotten a reaction from him. 

"And you would've done any better, Jane?" Jeff's brow bone raised, though no hair adorned it.

With no further comment, he walked through the large door and into the grand foyer. The black and white checkered floors were scratched and covered in mud by frequenters shoes, and a grand chandelier hung above them, creaking with each sway threatening to fall at any moment. In the corner, stood a short statured man with choppy blonde hair, with another wearing a cobalt mask with eyes that oozed a black substance. Ben, and Jack.

They were mid conversation when Jack spotted Jeff trudging through the doors, stopping to reposition Quinn on his shoulder. Jack turned, his vision focusing on them.

"That's her?" Curiosity piques his quiet voice as he speaks. 

"I was expecting a large berserker type." Ben chimes is, his speech crackled by static every few words.

Ignoring their questions, opting for turning his cheek in their direction, pointing out his throbbing red eye and reopened mouth wound. "She packs a punch." He adds.

"Respect." Ben speaks, Jack nodding his head in agreement.

Jeff walks past them, leaving them to resume conversation and turns a corner. They wind through multiple long passageways, and enter a basement. They walk down a large spiral staircase with, many stairs that threatened to snap at each movement. When they reach the bottom, Jeff navigates through more hallways, finally finding the right door. He uses the key ring that hung on the doorknob to unlock it and enter the room.

Inside was a scene straight from a horror movie. The walls were mere cement, as well as the flooring. Blood stained places that no one knew blood could reach, and the pungent smell was almost unbearable, even for Jeff. He placed Quinn on the floor in the very center of the room, where a single light bulb hung, casting intense shadows across her face.

Before leaving, he notes that he'd have to get someone to stitch the knife laceration across her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quinn's body lay draped across the rock hard floor, curled into fetal position. Even in sleep, she knew it was much too cold. Her obsidian hair matted across her face, and draped across the entirety of her body providing little warmth. Twigs and leafs poked her fragile skin through her clothing, causing her to stir. 

Her eyes flutter suddenly, trying to open and her nose is immediately lit on fire by the stench of rotted flesh. Though still lethargic, she shoots up. Heartbeat rapid, Quinn feels across the chilly cement flooring under her hands, rapidly trying to figure out where she was. Her breathing picks up, and her throat constricts, causing her to hunch over on all fours and dry heave. 

"Where am I? Where am I? Where am I?" Sprints through her mind.

"Are you Quinn Ann Beckett, daughter of Johnathan Beckett?" A voice bellows, deeper than any she'd ever heard, clouded by static cuts through her mind. He wasn't speaking to her, he was speaking in her mind. He was in her head.

"Yes, I am." She croaks, her voice echoing through the room.


End file.
